


Stratagem

by days4daisy



Category: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Extra Treat, Futures Program, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-18 12:46:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9385829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: Galen has been an interesting test, nothing more.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosecake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosecake/gifts).



> I'm so happy I'm not the only one who needed more of these two. Hope you enjoy this little treat. Reading _Catalyst_ is not required, no major spoilers :)

It’s over as soon as it begins.

Orson’s breaths are heavy, fists still clenched at his sides. He glowers at retreating backs, curses tossed over slumped shoulders. Blood marks the face of the tallest, a mountainous humanoid named Artik. “The freak’s all yours,” he spits.

When the three are out of sight, Orson suddenly feels his sliced knuckles. Pain sings down torn skin. It hurts, and it makes him smile. It’s been a long time since he’s been in a fight. One doesn’t grow up as confident as Orson Krennic without winning a few boyhood brawls. 

His thrill isn’t in the fight itself. Combat holds little interest for Orson, it’s _winning_ that he finds so intoxicating. To best a man a head taller than him, send him scurrying with his fat tail between his legs? No amount of credits could buy this high.

Only - why in the galaxy is he standing up for a student he wanted nothing to do with before now?

“You should learn to protect yourself,” Orson suggests. Galen is still seated on the floor tiles. His cheek is bruised, but he otherwise looks unharmed. Orson stepped in right as Artik was winding up for his second blow. 

“I can,” Galen informs him.

Galen Erso is an odd creature, even by Futures Program standards. Here, the best and brightest of the galaxy gather on Coruscant to hone their scientific craft. Eccentricities abound within the walls of their laboratories. Smart minds are not always the most socially adept. 

But Galen Erso is his own species. Quiet, but not at all self-conscious. Galen’s brilliance is on another level, a fact he is well-aware of. He answers one question while thinking ahead to the next. Some days, he does not say a word. Other days, the man will not shut up.

Orson recognized Galen’s brilliance from their first seminar together on energy conduction. Others were skeptical, given Galen’s modest upbringing. But Orson never doubted Galen's prowess. He also never doubted the man's weirdness. Orson respects Erso’s talents but has kept his distance outside the classroom. There is plenty of other mischief for a young man of Orson Krennic’s ambition to embark upon.

Yet, here Orson is, looking down at his odd classmate. Galen raised Artik’s ire with his unchecked mouth. Matter-of-fact explanations came out like the boasts of an over-intelligent prodigy. He took Artik's punishment without any plea for assistance.

But Orson helped him anyway, and he waits on the ‘thank you’ that does not seem to be coming. Irked, Orson props hands on his waist. “If you can defend yourself, why didn’t you?”

“You seemed eager to insert yourself,” Galen replies. “I did not want to deprive you of the opportunity.”

Orson snorts at his presumption. “Hate to see a weaker man bullied, I suppose.”

Galen shakes his head. “You like to look strong,” he corrects.

The comment should tweak Orson, but it amuses him more than anything else. “Next to a cretin like Artik?” He grins. “Guilty as charged.” Orson holds a hand out to Galen. A thin stripe of blood stains his knuckles. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Orson can only imagine the thoughts going through that marvelous brain of his. One offered hand equals endless possibilities for a master theorizer like Galen. The funniest part? Orson himself isn't sure why he's still here, or why there's a smile on his face. 

Galen takes Orson’s hand. “I have bandages in my quarters,” he says.

Orson shakes off the concern. “It’s nothing a stop at the medical wing won’t-”

“Are you depriving me the opportunity to show my gratitude?” Galen cuts in. Brows raised, eyes bright with something that might...could it be...humor?

“I wouldn’t think of it!” Orson replies cheerfully. “Lead the way.” It isn't until they've reached the hall outside the lab that Orson realizes how easily he’s been played. Who could have guessed Galen Erso was just as strategic in his personal affairs? A few odd comments, one charming glance, and suddenly Orson is being strung back to his quarters like a leashed pet.

“What is it?” Galen asks. Orson finds he’s been laughing out loud.

“It’s funny,” Orson explains. “This the first time we’ve interacted outside of class, I think.”

Galen shrugs. “You keep very different company.”

What does Galen know about the company Orson keeps? Orson smiles to himself. “To my own detriment, I’m afraid.”

Galen frowns, caught off-guard by the comment. Surprise must be uncommon for a student of his brilliance. Orson decides he likes the look.

***

They don’t speak outside class for three standard months. 

One semester ends, and the next semester begins. Older students graduate, and new students begin. The work becomes a toil, and Orson struggles to keep up with the prowess of his peers. 

What he lacks in technical mastery, he makes up for with social acumen. In group projects, Orson volunteers for the lead role no one else wants. He unifies scientific minds that lack the words to express their complex theories. He takes on fundraising missions, hobnobbing with elite Republic donors. High-ranking military officials begin to know Orson’s name.

Orson never volunteers for group assignments with Galen Erso. They pass in hallways without pause; a nod of recognition, nothing more. When Orson's struggles become noticeable, his teammates offer help. Orson refuses, saying he would rather figure things out on his own. He never quite does, and his grades reflect his failures. But his reputation outside the Futures Program continues to rise.

Orson chooses different lunch periods and locations. He takes his jogs mid-day, where Galen chooses to rise early. Orson’s late-night escapades around Coruscant become legendary. Many students join in his fun. Galen is never invited.

Orson's bed is filled more nights than not. Each one, more tedious than the last. Orson bores easily.

There is a sharp knock on Orson’s door at three in the afternoon. Unannounced visitors are rare, as is Orson being home at this time of day. Warm afternoons normally find Orson at an open market or one of many nearby cantinas. But today is different, somehow.

Galen Erso stands on the other side of the door. His dark hair is longer now, tied in a bun. He wears a loose gray tunic and a stern expression. 

“Galen!” Orson greets. “Are you here to…” He trails off when he realizes he has no idea why Galen is here.

“May I come in?” Galen asks. Orson steps aside.

His apartment is bright in the midday sun. The living room is bordered by wall-high bookshelves and a large holo-screen. An old gray couch rounds out the room. White curtains, floor to ceiling, lap the floor in a gentle breeze.

Galen's shoulders bunch. Orson recognizes his anxiousness. He’s never stopped watching Galen Erso. Ever since the fight, Orson’s eyes have been on him. Subtle glances in the classroom. A hidden look across the library. He knows Galen never looks a teacher in the eye when he answers a question. He's rarely able to sit still, fingers drumming his desk or legs bouncing under it. He often writes while he’s speaking, as if both sides of his brain must be kept occupied at the same time. 

Galen rarely engages with the same or opposite sex. He seems to find social pursuits a waste of time. Or, if not time, focus. Interaction is a distraction Galen’s brilliance cannot afford. 

Orson wonders when he became so invested. If he was always so interested, why didn't he pursue? If Orson wants something, he has it. 'No' is not a word he hears often. But he did not pursue Galen. Galen has been an interesting test, nothing more.

“Something to drink, Galen?” Orson's hand lingers on the door. “The imports on Coruscant are marvelous, aren’t they? I may even have an ale from your home world. Grange, wasn’t it?”

“Nothing,” Galen says.

“I see.” Orson traces the side profile Galen shows him. “Something else I can help you with?”

He would have called the possibility of Galen kissing him unlikely, but not impossible. Galen is a difficult man to read. What strikes Orson is the violence with which Galen grabs his tunic. Orson nearly loses his footing when he’s pulled forward. “What are-” is muted under thin lips. It isn't just Galen's intensity, it's his _control_. Galen knows exactly what he's doing. Orson did not calculate experience into his theories.

Orson could choose to pull away and demand to know what Galen is doing. Regain control of this situation through anger. Make Galen stutter through explanations of his behavior. But doing so could ruin any opportunity Orson has to continue this...whatever this is.

Orson relaxes under Galen’s hands. It surprises him, pleasantly, when the front of his tunic is released for the back. Galen’s fingers draw strict lines up his shoulder blades. 

Curious, Orson parts his mouth open. His upper lip is taken immediately, drawing a sound that he has not made since he was much younger and greener. Orson's fingers knot in Galen’s shirt, and Galen moves closer to him. He is lithe but deliciously persistent. Orson casually opens his stance. The friction of Galen’s body rouses him, a groan mumbled against Galen’s mouth.

“I need you out of my head,” Galen states abruptly, as dispassionate as one might be about a grocery list. His eyes seem darker despite the midday hour.

“Am I in your head?” Orson wonders. Even he doesn’t buy his own affected innocence.

“My research is lagging,” Galen explains sourly. “I need my focus back.”

Orson has been called many things during his nighttime jaunts on Coruscant. Some positive, others negative. But this is the first time he’s been called a distraction. It suits him, he thinks. 

Orson forces a gentler expression. “I’m happy to help, Galen," he insists. "Of course! It’s just, we’ve barely spoken over the past few weeks. You can't be blaming me for-”

“Yes.” Galen’s expression never warms. “I told you, I didn’t need your help.”

Mystified, Orson asks, “With Artik?”

He’s answered by Galen’s mouth and the startling sensation of being maneuvered towards his sofa. Orson is never led anywhere! He jolts when the back of his legs meet cushion. 

A teasing, “Easy, Galen” finds him shoved onto the sofa. Orson runs hands up Galen's sides before he can question himself for pursuing this. He marvels at the hair that’s fallen loose from Galen’s bun. Galen bends over him, claiming his mouth again.

Galen wants to be done with this as quickly as possible, Orson realizes. This is Galen Erso's psyche laid out in the simplest terms.

“You can say no,” Galen offers, as an afterthought. 

Orson releases Galen's bun. His dark hair falls free, a dip where the band once held it. At Galen’s questioning look, Orson shrugs. “I can also say yes,” he reasons. 

Galen never smiles. He just pursues, hands under Orson's clothes. Looking for the fastest route to an end.

What can Orson do to extend his fixation? He tests Galen’s resolve with touch and taste. Slides fingers under his tunic. Combs firm lines through his hair. Orson studies his grunts, his mumbles, and the occasional startled groan.

What can Orson do to lure him deeper? How can Orson _keep_ him?

As Galen studies his body, Orson’s mind begins its work.

*The End*


End file.
